


Then the dreadful night shall break

by Blue_Daddys_Girl



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: A plot is actually taking shape, Ahsoka Tano is a Sibling to the Clones, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anakin Skywalker Doesn't Turn to the Dark Side, Angst, BAMF Obi-Wan Kenobi, Breaking the Jedi Code (Star Wars), CT-7567 | Rex & Ahsoka Tano Friendship, Dark Obi-Wan Kenobi, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, FebuWhump2021, Feelings, Gen, Healing Halls, Heavy Mood, Horror, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, I'm Sorry Obi-Wan You Just Feel So Good To Break, Jedi Temple (Star Wars), Master & Padawan Relationship(s), Mental Breakdown, Minor Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Nightmares, Self-Reflection, Slavery, Sleep Deprivation, The Dark Side of the Force (Star Wars), Torture, Watch me spin a bunch of force lore, Whump, Zygerrian Slave Arc, Zygerrians (Star Wars), living force vs unifying force
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:40:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29581794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Daddys_Girl/pseuds/Blue_Daddys_Girl
Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi is a slave to the Zygerrians. To protect the togrutas he was tasked to rescue, he must endure. But how much can an already exhausted general withstand? How much sleep can Obi-Wan lose, before something in him breaks?This is an AU where Anakin did not show up in time.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Anakin Skywalker & Mace Windu, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & CT-7567 | Rex, Vokara Che & Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 64
Kudos: 144





	1. Price of Silence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KitePiper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitePiper/gifts).



> For inspiring me with the Sleep Deprivation prompt in their fantastic Inquisitor!Ezra take on it, [The Pipe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29550675).

All day Obi-Wan toils, sweat dripping in thick rivulets through the grime, striping his face in a mockery of the skin markings of his fellow slaves.

He keeps to himself unless forced to join a group for work. He speaks to no one, and no one speaks to him. They all know better by now.  
If he helps them they are flogged. If his collar is set off, so are theirs. If he shares food, they are made to starve. And if he begs, the Zygerrians only laugh.

If he speaks...

But he doesn't, not any more, not for days.

At night, the guards wake them constantly.  
They all grow weaker, each day of teeth-grinding labour blurring into the next. Obi-Wan can feel the resentment and the twisted hate in the silence. He feels weighted stares trailing like broken nails along the whipped planes of his back.  
He is the fallen saviour, the source of additional suffering in a place where the minimum is already unbearable.

Jedi training should keep him strong. It ought to reassure him that all this darkness is but a step towards greater light. That someone is coming, that hope never fades.

The lashes fall, the collars shock, the slaves sob in the night and their masters barge in, batons ringing against the metal bed frames, lights flashing.

Obi-Wan stays silent, curled up on his bunk, and blows on the ember of his optimism, worried he might not know how to rekindle it, were it to fade.

At first he doesn't mind the lack of sleep. His hunger would have kept him awake if the guards hadn't.  
He watches them, notices how they return every twenty minutes during the first half of the night, and then every hour in the second. He sleeps in stolen snatches, accepts this as just another form of torture, another thing to get used to and wait out.

And wait he does.

He shambles off to work, wondering when will Anakin come, prodding weakly at their bond and feeling nothing. The force is pain all around, the darkness a suffocating presence, numbing his senses.

The day passes and night returns, still devoid of comfort or respite.

Obi-Wan starts awake, again and again, and again...

He prods at the hairline fractures spreading inside his self. He keeps his eyes tightly shut, tries but fails to meditate, fails to block out the sounds. The constant hum of machinery, the wet rasps of the sick, the moaning of the injured, the sobbing of the broken, and faint over it, echoing down the hollow corridors, the shrieks of those being put to... more strenuous methods of conversion.  
It all rubs his nerves raw, corrupts his thoughts, turns him on his fellow captives, so _noisy, all of them_.

'Stop it,' he snaps at a whimpering woman. 'Just–' his voice cracks, rusty with disuse, 'be quiet.'

Obi-Wan isn't sure if his Zygerrian overseers know what they are doing, if they realise how tired he’d already been before all this, and how far they are pushing him.  
He isn't sure they even care to know.

He works, silent, and his thoughts fester. Doubt gnaws at his heart, and the code rings in his mind until the repeated words lose their significance and turn to a sludge of meaningless phonemes.  
Hope needs no words to be kept alive, it needs no mantra, but it still eludes him in the night as more noises jerk him away from his rest.

'Shut, _UP!_ ' He screams.

Fear and anger ripple back towards him through the force and oh, but he hates them too. _The cries, the sobs, so damned loud!_ Why can’t they be quiet? How can they not crave silence? What does he need to do, to get some kriffing peace?

The voice that whispers that these poor togrutas are victims too is so dim and far away, it might as well not be there at all.

Obi-Wan seethes, his frustration rising through him on a tidal wave of hot tears. He only wants this all to stop. He only wants to sleep. At this point, he would not mind never waking up.

His eyes flutter, mind adrift and drowsy, ready to fall into the oblivion of sleep... But yet again the lights come on, and the guards, pummelling random victims with their batons. They holler, rattle beds, same as before. Same as next time.

The guards leave and hushed, anxious silence falls over the room. They’ll have peace for twenty minutes. And then twenty more, and then, if he hasn't lost track, he'll have an hour.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi master, rolls himself into a ball and weeps.

He's lifting rocks, pushing carts, choking on his daily portion of mouldy bread, staring into the middle distance.  
He keeps his thoughts far from the things and people he loves, afraid that handling such precious memories might sully them, taint them with the same revolting grime that mats his hair and cakes under his nails.

He feels his soul unravelling. The once thick and vibrant weave of his personality a moth-eaten rag, fraying under his touch. The person he was... The calm, collected man, sometimes to a fault... Sometimes a little too cold and obedient...

Where has he gone?

Like a shade into darkness, swallowed by something greater than himself.

Reality ebbs away. Day and night, nightmare or wakefulness, it all tastes like blood and ashes, it all feels like pain.

These slavers, they truly don’t understand what they’re doing, tearing him up like this. They can’t even start to guess at what happens, when you truly _break_ a Jedi. They’re playing with fire, with rhydonium! Obi-Wan tries to make Agruss see. First he tries to reason with him, but before long he grovels in front of the Zygerrian. He pleads. 

The man laughs, driving his hovering seat out of Obi-Wan's reach.

'You beg nicely, Jedi, I'll have to admit. Say what you will, but I think our program is working just fine on you.'

'Obi-Wan!' Rex calls out, forcing his way from his group to get closer to him. 'Don't–'

Don't what? Obi-Wan wonders. He'll probably never know. Rex is beaten up and taken away, of course, and Obi-Wan is ordered to return to his line.

That evening he climbs in his bunk, arms shaking, stomach aching, back itching.  
A man coughs and Obi-Wan growls.

 _Don't what?_ There are so many things he doesn't do already. Right now for example, he _doesn't sleep_ , because a woman is _wailing_. Someone else tells her to _can it_. Another voice rises, saying _they_ should be quiet. The argument builds, droning over the crying.

Something snaps in Obi-Wan then, the last thread that held the tapestry of his being together finally succumbing to the strain.

He watches himself rise and walk to the woman. Watches as he grabs her by her tattered shirt and brings her close to his twitching face.

'Why won't you shut up?' He screams, shaking her. 'Shut up! Shut up!'

A hand falls on his arm, trying to drag him away, someone yells at him, and Obi-Wan lashes out. It's a pitiful melee, full of weak punches and desperate clawing, but the guards are prompt to come and break it up.

Far beyond himself, Obi-Wan _pushes_. The collar snaps from his neck, clattering on the floor. The guards rush him, brandishing their weapons, but really, these slavers _don't understand_.

Obi-Wan grips them both through the force, right at the throat, and squeezes. With a crunch they stop their struggle, and when he releases them they collapse like broken puppets, dead.  
The silence is resounding, a pure and precious thing, and Obi-Wan cries even as he breaks it with his own manic laughter.

This was _so easy_. And it feels _so good_.

The slaves step away from him, shuffling back into their cots, wanting no part of this. Fools. Animals, the lot of them. Noisy and wanton creatures, worthless shackles he has finally freed himself from.

Obi-Wan walks through the dormitory's door. He slams the warden against the ceiling and back down to the floor. He paws his broken body, fingers trembling as he takes his keypass and his comlink.

Freedom. Sweet freedom within his grasp.

Obi-Wan makes his way through the compound, prowling the corridors like a starving nexu. He kills every Zygerrian he encounters, and thinks nothing of it. He has a plan now, an escape route he can see the end of.  
He'll steal a ship, and then he'll sleep. After that he doesn't care.

 _Don't_ , a voice whispers at the back of his mind. _Don't_ , as he crushes windpipes, squashes organs, pulverises bones. _Don't_ , as tears stream down his face, adding new streaks in the filth and blood. _Don't, don't, don't_ as he forces his way through Agruss' quarters, watches the life drain from his eyes.

Obi-Wan recovers his lightsaber, a sliver of his soul, singing to him, trying to worm its way back into the shattered mess at his core. He leaves it on his belt, untouched. He doesn't need it. It's a civilised weapon, and nothing here is civilised.

For a moment he titters, uncertain on his feet in the middle of the heady quiet of Agruss' bedroom. His head pounds, his eyes sting. If he closes them he might well fall asleep standing there.

 _Don't_ , the voice says.

_Rex!_

Obi-Wan gathers himself once more, grimacing with the effort. He must rescue the man first. Then find a ship. Kill more Zygerrians? Rescue… then sleep. Even thinking hurts.

He lurches forward, and with a snarl, Obi-Wan Kenobi proceeds with his _plan_.


	2. Weight of Days

By the time Obi-Wan gets Rex out of the compound and on to the landing pad to steal a ride off that cursed place, the clone has gotten his hands on a blaster and is shooting every Zygerrian who rears their hairy head. Which is good, because Obi-Wan barely has the strength to shuffle after him.  
He boards a ship, slaps the controls to close the landing ramp behind them and collapses onto the walkway.

'General!' Rex calls out, shaking his shoulder. 'Sir!'

Obi-Wan cracks his eyes open, the familiar face swimming over him in his blurred vision. Anger swells again. Rex is wasting time. He's keeping him awake.

'Go,' he growls. 'Take off.'

Rex drags him to the cockpit and dumps him into the copilot's seat, ignoring all his grunted protests.

'Sir, the towers! They'll shoot us down.'

'Just... go...' Obi-Wan replies, pleading now. 'I'll keep us safe.'

Rex grimaces but knows better than to disobey a direct order. He does all the work, fingers tapping through the unfamiliar controls of the Zygerrian ship, prepping them for take off even as an alarm starts whining, no doubt from the damage they're taking from blaster shots.  
Obi-Wan closes his eyes and steps out of himself and into the twilight plane that lives between the here and there, between sleep and wakefulness. It is a crepuscular world, vibrant with the force, in which he has been spending much time in recent days, lingering there instead of falling further into the numbing shades of sleep.  
He shines in this place, a force user radiating power, he can reach out far. One, two, and then, because there is nothing stopping him from doing so, three, four and five hands. He holds Zygerrian hearts, fluttering in ungentle fingers. It's easy to squeeze, to snuff their light and let the shadows deepen all around.  
Obi-Wan hears Rex whoop and speak to him, but he's already tumbling down into senseless slumber.

At first he does not dream. His mind is too deeply wounded for that, too focused on healing itself.

When someone carries him, touches him, his eyes flutter and his senses reach out before recoiling. It's only Rex, stretching him down somewhere, spreading a thin thermal blanket over him. Time has passed, Obi-Wan can tell. His sleep was thick and abnormal, but it is the sweetest thing, and he returns to it like a lovesick man to the arms of his beloved.

Eventually, the dreams come. Tentative at first. Snatches of events, reels of images and bursts of sound and smell, as if his broken mind were slowly knitting up nightmares out of all the strands of horror he's experienced.

But first, the wool of his memories must be carded.

He screams, he runs, he falls from great heights. He hungers and he begs.

The experiences must be spun into black thread.

Dry crumbs choke him, electricity courses through him, acrid water burns his skin, mottled with rashes and bruises.

His emotions are plied in, the yarn rolled.

Voices whisper poisonous words in a language he does not understand, eyes lock on him, judging, hating, following his every move.

A hand grabs him, shakes him forcefully, tearing him away from his repose and his terrors both and Obi-Wan comes out swinging.

'Ow! Gene–'

The offender croaks as he chokes against the wall. Obi-Wan presses, pushing all around himself as he scans the unknown room he's woken in, confused and lost.

'K– ke– no...' A voice croaks.

His attacker. Obi-Wan turns around back to him, lightsaber igniting in his hand, ready to strike him down.

A clone looks at him, face an ugly shade of purple, eyes bulging. He waves his hands at him. _Don't_.

Rex.

He gasps when Obi-Wan releases him, and the two of them find themselves shaking on the floor, though for different reasons.

'We– We're home,' Rex manages eventually, scrambling towards the Jedi, wrapping him in a reassuring embrace. 'We're on Coruscant.'


	3. Taste of Shame

Anakin feels like he has something lodged in his throat, rotten and the size of a fist, refusing to go away no matter how hard he swallows against it. He recognises it of course, how could he not, raised on Tatooine before his years as a Jedi? He hasn't been coddled by life, not then, and not since the start of the war either.  
From what Anakin can sense, he isn't the only one in the Council Chamber today tasting guilt's nasty flavour, seasoned with shame.

He sits in silence, only half listening to the report, and avoiding looking at Rex. His mind is stuck, like a podracer with a blown gyro, going in ever tightening loops on a circular track.

They're asking his captain about the bodies he's seen, about leaving the togruta slaves behind, about Obi-Wan's "state of mind" during their escape, his orders and why Rex hadn't challenged them. Like the man ever had such a choice.

Anakin spins back to the worst of his days as a slave, as a commodity and possession, and re-imagines them compounded by the grim understanding of adulthood. At least as a child he'd often been too happy or naive to grasp all the implications of his situation. His mother had shielded him from so much. And then Watto had bought them and made him work on something he'd come to love. Something he still practices as a hobby.

He doubts Obi-Wan will want to keep ore processing as a hobby, after this.

‘Did you see him kill?' Someone asks Rex.

'I suppose so,' the captain answers, shuffling on his feet, 'I've seen the general kill people with his lightsaber before, but he wasn't using it. I thought it was to knock them off.'

'Can you elaborate?'

'Well, he was throwing the Zygerrians we came across against the ceiling or the walls. I heard some telling sounds from some of them, but we were in the middle of an escape, and Zygerrians are very tough. I didn't give it much thought at the time. Once I got my hands on a blaster I was the one doing much of the killing. General Kenobi was struggling to keep up.'

'I see. What of the men he killed in the compound's defence turrets?'

'I don't know, master. He said he'd protect us and to just fly on. He reached out with his hands and no one shot at us.'

'Right. Nothing let you discern that he'd killed all the Zygerrians manning these turrets?'

'Ah– No. He just passed out, his nose and ears were bleeding so I–'

Rex's voice drones on, drowned out by the beat of Anakin's heartbeat, thumping in his ears. His breath hitches, comes fast and shallow. His palms grow clammy and cold and a little self-derisive voice chirps at the back of his mind. _Really? Going for a panic attack in the High Council Chamber?_

He tries to collect himself, to master his breath. Swallowing is painful, and Rex is looking at him like he knows exactly what's going on. He's not the only one either.

Anakin notices the masters' attention, the pause in the conversation, the worry buzzing through his bond with Ahsoka.

'I'm sorry, was there a question?' He asks.

For once, the councillors' faces hold no censure. A Jedi surviving their master's fall is a much less common occurrence than the reverse.

Maybe they believe that a master's long years of experience and accumulated wisdom would help them weather the sufferings brought on by an apprentice's fall, while a young Jedi would find themselves challenged in a more fundamental way, seeing the person who has guided and shaped them to knighthood turn from the light.

They would be right.

And Anakin carries the burden of knowledge to boot. While a master might wonder if it was something they lacked, something they could have prevented, forever unsure of their part in their student's downfall, Anakin knows exactly how he failed his master and why the man is now a broken Jedi, treated like a dangerous beast in the high security wing of the Healing Halls.

Because he couldn't stomach bedding a slaver, to cheat on the wife he's not even supposed to have, and curtail his master's suffering.

'Much to think about, young knight Skywalker has,' master Yoda says, a thoughtful hum complementing his words and kindly smile.

'Yes. I'm sorry. I... It’s been a lot to take in... I'm not sure it feels real to me yet.'

'Real?' Mace Windu asks, a bitter chuckle on his lips. 'Surely, if we all could feel Kenobi's fall, it must have been quite _real_ for you.'

Anakin grinds his teeth but says nothing. The Korun master is right. But he knows what Anakin means. Feeling it and believing it are two different things.

He also notices how it's "Kenobi" now, without honorifics.

'Perhaps it is time for Skywalker to be allowed to see Obi-Wan,' Plo Koon suggests softly.

Ahsoka shuffles behind Anakin, but remains silent. He can feel her uncertainty through their bond. Her discomfort with the idea.

'I'd like that, yes,' Anakin says, hopeful.

The council rustles, silent agreement sweeping through its members. Anakin can imagine what goes on between them in these meaningful glances and imperceptible nods.

More than half of them are holograms, out on the field. The war is still running. They need him. Losing Obi-Wan is already such a blow... So they’ll want him back on the field as soon as possible and so–

Anakin stops himself before his distaste can overpower him. He doesn't know. He must not assume. The inner voice that chides him still speaks in Obi-Wan's voice.

'Alright, I'll take Skywalker to the halls once we are done but first,' Windu gives Anakin a pointed look, 'we were wanting to hear about your interaction with Count Dooku again.'


	4. Risk of Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's catch back on Obi-Wan before Anakin's visit.

Obi-Wan's perception of his dreams is changing.

He is no stranger to nightmares, and an old hand at distressing visions and precognitive dreams. But this isn't either of those. Something's wrong, he can tell, even as he wades through them, as he claws his way out of their suffocating embrace.

He has told the young healers, Bedara and Se'bi, and Vokara Che's padawan, the sweet Nautolan Kasaemasin who radiates love and warmth like no Jedi Obi-Wan has ever met.  
They take notes and give him medicine to induce dreamless sleep, and still they come, twisted and malign, quivering with a darkness that is not his own.

The healers shake their heads, incredulous. They up the dosage, and Obi-Wan sinks deeper into the soiled abyss of his subconscious, hating the feeling of being haunted even here, in his last refuge.

More than once he lashes out in his sleep, defending himself from ghosts, sending the halls into a groggy frenzy in the middle of the night. The lack of proper rest takes its toll, and Obi-Wan isn't healing as fast as he ought to.  
He is moved to a new room in an empty wing where his damaging things won't matter as much.

He's tired, but he relishes the quiet. Now if only they would ban visitors...

What few he has think him all washed and scrubbed. They can smell the aseptic floral scent of the halls' soap, and they smile at him, try to comfort him, share inoffensive news and well meant platitudes.

Obi-Wan suffers them in silence. He knows the filth is still there. His entire self is slick with it.

He looks down at his hands, folded in his lap. They were cleaned and brushed to a bright pink, although the grooming did nothing to get rid of the thick calluses or the dark scars from cuts and scrapes that healed while still full of the sooty gunk of the Zygerrian refineries. They're a part of him now, tattooed into his skin as surely as the experience is etched onto his soul.

Ah, how they all act so sorry. Yoda, Mace, even Plo who rescued Rex and him, apparently. They come and go, they try to make him talk, they command or coax or coddle.

Obi-Wan can sense the entire Council's mood all the way down here, sense the uncertainty and the damned sorriness, trickling through the ranks of the order.

Like he used to be such a lovely thing, neat, sturdy and obedient.  
He'd been a master! He'd sat on the Council! He'd been at the top of his art! One of the best swordsmen in the order. A general! A role model! Shining so bright in the light.

Yes, Obi-Wan had been many things to them, and now he is many others; broken, his pieces held on together by a sack of skin, but shattered all the same.

They wish to glue him back on, to puzzle him back into a pretty Jedi picture, only to frown and huff when they realise some of the pieces are gone. Burnt by the fires of Kadavo's furnaces, splintered to dust by the batons of his Zygerrian masters, or crushed in his own hands.

Oh, they don't like that, and Obi-Wan pities them, because he understands. He doesn't like it either, but he has long resigned himself to the truth.

Well, has it been a long time? Was it last week? No one is giving him dates, and he isn't asking. The young healers offer him soothing tea instead of information, and Obi-Wan drinks it, glad for the small gestures.

The highlight of his days is when Vokara Che visits him.

Master Che is special.

He'd never known before, never noticed. Obi-Wan never spent enough time in the Halls, not even when he needed it. He respected master Che of course, she'd worked such wonders on Anakin after Geonosis, how could he not? But he had not realised. He'd been blind.  
Now he sees her, walking the same dusky world at will, looking at him directly with eyes unclouded, her presence brighter even than his own, a blue fire, its touch fresh and invigorating.

He speaks with her there, because he can share his hurt without words. He can ask questions without opening his mouth, and she can answer in that same silence, their minds brushing without bond, the simplest flicker of their will as strong as the tightest grip of their hands.

She is curious, she listens, and she has answers for him.

And unlike the others he's seen so far, she has no pity for him, only the same sort of warmth her padawan exudes in such ludicrous quantity.

 _Do people usually treat the shards of a broken cup with such delicacy?_ He asks Vokara one evening as she rubs bacta gel into the worst of his cuts, still inflamed and weeping.

He has dismissed two of his most persistent visitors earlier with a well aimed toss of his teacup, and the image seems most appropriate.

'They might break further,' she answers, knowing full well whose shards he's talking about. She gives him a hard look, prompting him to use his voice.

'And is that ever a concern?' He croaks.

'You're not a broken glass, Obi-Wan.'

'Quite right. I'm a broken Jedi. Apparently much more complicated to dispose of.'

'No one is trying to dispose of you.'

'Oh, I wonder...'

The healer sighs, her lekku twitching in frustration.

'Your sarcastic repartee used to be exasperating at times, but seeing it replaced with such pessimistic self-defeatism is not actually an improvement. You know that the Council isn't trying to get rid of you. Nor I. Come, you're one of the greatest masters of our generation. You're strong, well loved.'

'I'm afraid my popularity does not play in my favour in this scenario. Quite the contrary.'

The Twi'lek's blue fingers tap along the sore muscles of his neck, press against his swollen abdomen, tracing a new and updated map of his injuries.

'You're a collection of hurts,' Vokara says, her voice neutral and matter of fact, 'but you're in my care Obi-Wan. You're _my_ collection of hurts. I want to take all of them away, until you have no reasons to ever lay eyes on me again. And I won't let anyone get their hands on you until then. After that, you'll be back to fending for yourself.' She gives him a knowing look. 'I suspect that'll be a lot of work, so let's make sure you're in your best shape, mmh?'

He grunts, a non-committal vocalisation of his defeat.

She opens a fresh bacta canister, dips her fingers into the translucent paste.

'It's because of bacta, actually.'

Obi-Wan gives her a perplexed look, his mind racing back through the conversation to make sense of the statement.

'What? That Mace and Yoda treat me like vitrithin ceramic? Does the smell of bacta turn them into idiots?'

Vokara laughs, a rare sound, high and girlish.

'No, I don't mean the councillors, to whom you're being quite harsh... I'm talking about the Seam. You asked me earlier why I was the only one there with you, why Kasaemasin's presence is so faint in it. Well, the short answer to that is bacta.'

It's Obi-Wan's turn to laugh, a raspy chuckle. So, the cunning master is out to get his mind off of his brooding, and she knows exactly how to go about it.

'It has a name then? The _Seam?_ It rings a bell.'

'You must have studied it a little during your initiate days, as part of your general courses. You would have studied it more if you'd joined the medical corps. Though not that much. As you can see, few of us know how to use it fully. Or bother to. If master Kridd was here, she could join us in it. Her master and my own both believed bacta to be a crutch, and that the decline in mastery of the Seam was serious proof of the degradation of the order. To hear them talk about it—and stars, did they ever—it was like the Jedi order was forgetting its forms and katas for lack of using lightsabers in combat. To them a healer relying on bacta was like a Jedi with a blaster.'

Obi-Wan watches her spread said bacta against his ribs, the fast acting gel dissolving before his eyes. Even then, Vokara Che's fingers pulse through the force, radiating in the Seam, as she calls it.

He looks at her, _truly looks,_ and she looks back, a shining presence, extending many hands to him, brushing his body, tugging and pushing at the force inside of him, redirecting it to mend the most damaged parts of him, shifting its flow to bring him back into balance.

'I don't understand. If it is a healing tool, how could I–'

He can't finish his sentence, can't put words to his slaughter.

'It is just one of the aspects of the Living Force. You've changed your ways. Or were forced to.' She brushes strands of hair away from his brow, her fingers alighting there with suggestions of _calm._ 'You had to let go of yourself, rely on your instinct. You were made to live in the present to survive your day-to-day conditions. You became more attuned to your feelings than to your thoughts, maybe to protect yourself. These are the tenets of the Living Force. I'm sure you know. Qui-Gon Jinn must have drilled the here-and-now quite hard into you, didn't he?'

'I– You can't be saying–' Obi-Wan struggles, mind reeling even under the mindhealer’s soothing trick, 'I can't have been doing the will of the Cosmic Force by kil– By doing what I did... To a campful of sentients.'

Vokara shrugs.

'I wouldn't know, honestly. All I'm saying is that a strong mastery of the Living Force must be attained to enter the Seam, and from there it becomes much easier to touch bodies and minds. It opens new horizons. What you do with it is up to you, and your ability to focus and to forget about yourself.'

Obi-Wan relishes the woman's bluntness, not trying to excuse his actions. He mulls on the new information in silence as she redoes his bandages and jots down notes on her datapad.

He wonders if Qui-Gon knew. If he was able to access the Seam, and why he'd never mentioned such an important aspect of the Living Force. Maybe he hadn't wanted to distract his padawan, so strongly anchored in the Unifying Force, constantly racked by visions. Maybe he thought nothing good could come of its use, for non-healers.

He'll never know.

His eyes droop as he begins to drift off, and he wakes back up with a start at the sensation of falling, heart racing.

'What is it?' Vokara asks, pushing him back down onto his bed.

Obi-Wan groans, feeling his anxiety bubble over. He's been so alone for so long, solutions stubbornly evading him. And now these nightmares... He can't exactly force-choke them to death.

 _It's the dreams, the nightmares,_ he sighs through the Seam to Vokara. _I talked to your padawan this morning..._

'Yes, Kasaemasin told me about that, how the drugs aren't helping.'

 _There is something wrong,_ he insists, his anguish colouring the words.

_I understand. If sleep is to be your sanctuary, we must make it a safe one._

Obi-Wan's breath catches in his throat, a little whimper escaping him before he can quite control himself. Tears threaten to spill over. He can feel the ticks pick at his mouth and cheeks, triggered by his emotions.

_You believe me._

_Of course I do._

She pats his shoulder, waits for him to calm down.

'Let's do a trance dream. I'll come down with you and observe, see if there's anything I can do to help directly, instead of medication. What do you think?'

Obi-Wan thinks he'd love some company to shed light in the gloom within him, yet he can't help but wonder about the influence his dark-touched mind will have on her.

'Don't worry your pretty head over it,' she says when he shares his concern, 'I'm a mindhealer, and I didn't get to lead the Halls by being a bad one. Now just relax, as much as you can, and we can get started.'

Vokara Che drags her stool to the head of his bed, orders the lights down, and waits for Obi-Wan to open to her. And so, for the first time in what feels like forever, he extends his trust to another.

She reaches out through the Seam, and with the touch of a brilliant finger between his eyes, puts him to sleep.


	5. Dark of Night

Obi-Wan is sprinting down a warren of durasteel corridors.

He has this faint notion that he should be dreaming, not running away from... whatever is chasing him.

But he has no time to think, and hardly any time to breathe. At each junction of the corridors, rayshields snap up, blocking some of the paths and driving him deeper into what starts to feel like a one-way maze. Panic builds, lapping at his heels like a racing current, catching up with him. The slap of his booted feet echoes ahead of him till he stops, finally meeting a dead end. Obi-Wan curses and wheels around only to slam into the searing heat of another rayshield.

Beyond it his master sits, kneeling, peaceful. And beyond him, Darth Maul paces, his smile confident of the future, his amber gaze taunting.

When Obi-Wan screams, Qui-Gon Jinn turns to him, a disappointed look on his face.

_So noisy._

Qui-Gon opens his hand and _pushes._ Obi-Wan tumbles back, and Cody catches him.

'Careful general, it's very dark.'

Yes, Umbara is dark, and cold, and foggy. He extricates himself from Cody's arms, half formed excuses dying on his lips, and runs on, fleeing from something he can't put a name to, something coming for _him_.  
He stumbles on the corpses of his men, trips on their torn limbs and falls back into the gory muck. He loses all sense of direction. The plants' red bioluminescence and the blue and green bolts of raging war his only spatial references.

Obi-Wan scrambles back up, clutching a blaster rifle in stiff hands.

A white light catches his attention. It weaves around the clones, moving in a rhythmic pattern, following a grid. He shoulders his rifle and fires, again and again until the room grows quiet, the light stopped at last.

'Good job,' says a familiar fizzing voice behind him, 'Hardeen...'

Obi-Wan turns around to meet the red lambent eyes, ever so captivating. Blue fingers curl around his throat, pulling him close.

'I think... I'm dreaming,' he whispers to Bane.

The bounty hunter's face contorts in rage, hatred, _betrayal._ The red of his eyes expands, permeates everything.

'Kenobi!'

He shoves Obi-Wan away and he falls, crying out, knowing there's nothing but flames waiting bellow, nothing but the oppressive red that swallows him whole.

He opens his mouth to scream and the red plunges in, fills his lungs, his entire being, oozing back out through his every pore. His eyes burn, his tears scorch his face, digging like acid into his distended flesh. He writhes, mouth smacking mutely, a helpless fish drowning in this red light thicker than blood.

A hand, hard and metallic, clasps his wrist, pulls him up roughly.

_Anakin._

The young knight smiles. He's full of teasing remarks and easy charm as he weaves an arm under Obi-Wan's, supporting him and helping him walk.

There is an odd reverb to their footsteps, an echo out of kilter, the soft padding of a stalking predator, matching step for step. Before Obi-Wan can turn around and identify the presence that has been chasing him all this time, Anakin falters.

The red stuff is sloughing off of Obi-Wan and squirming and slimming its way on to Anakin, melting against his skin, absorbed as easily as bacta gel.

'No!' He bats his friend's hands away in vain, tries to keep this red pain inside himself, to contain it. 'Don't touch me!'

But the redness sublimates, great clouds of it engulfing them both.

Anakin doesn't see it, _he_ _doesn't get it!_ He shakes his head at Obi-Wan, puzzled, smile vacant, and tries to grab him again and again, _and he won't listen!_

'I said _stop!'_

Anakin stumbles back from Obi-Wan's force shove, shocked.

'Master, why?' He reaches out again, but his skin is motley red now, and his eyes shine through the haze with the Sith's golden hue. His smile twists, his voice husky as he whispers: 'just embrace it.' 

Obi-Wan screams until his voice cracks, until the world splinters around him, and blue hands seize him and wrangle him away from himself.


	6. Haze of Disbelief

Anakin speaks to a few of the councillors as the meeting disperses. Or rather a few councillors drift up to him, forming a loose queue of people eager to express their condolences, though of course they don't use that term.

They're sorry anyway. Shocked. Never saw it coming. Who would have, really? Obi-Wan of all people? Then they extend offers of help and advice and proclaim their doors open, for when they're in the system, and their comm otherwise.

Anakin nods, numb to his core, too busy keeping his mental shields as high as they'll go to pay attention to the details of this onslaught of suspicious sympathy.

Finally Mace Windu gets impatient and swoops to Anakin's rescue.

'Skywalker. Let's go,' he says, giving Ki-Adi-Mundi a sharp nod that is probably Council shorthand for _that'll do_ , or some other form of dismissal.

Anakin follows him down the corridor to the lifts and frowns as he spots Ahsoka making her way towards Rex and the turbolift to the landing pads. She isn’t leaving, is she? 

'Snips... Are you coming?' He calls out, and though he means the question as rhetorical, clearly his padawan doesn't.

She stops short. Anakin doesn't need their bond to tell she's conflicted, nor the force to sense her reluctance. She's showing all her telltale signs of anxiety as she turns to face him, as obvious as when she was a scrawny padawan with her lekku grazing her shoulders: rolling on the ball of her feet, shifting her weight around, rubbing her arms.  
Avoiding his eyes.

'I don't know, master. I don't feel like I have anything positive to say to him.'

'What do you mean?' Anakin asks, confused.

He doesn't feel like he has anything positive to say to Obi-Wan either.  
Their relationship had already been strained before Zygerria, still on the mend from the whole Hardeen affair, and now this... Anakin feels like he's walked into a bomb's blast radius not days after recovering from a concussion. At times during the Council meeting he'd wondered if he had enough grey matter left to ever focus on anything again, let alone come up with a compelling apology and something _positive_ to say to his old master. But surely he has to try, doesn't he?

‘I don’t know. Just what I said. I don’t want to see him like that. Not now.’

'We owe it to Obi-Wan. We were his mission teammates and we let him down. He needs to know why we didn't come for him, why-'

'Look, I didn't rescue him because I spent days hanging in a cage like a bird treat! I lost my first kiss to Zagerria's prime minister! I– I don't know what to say to master Obi-Wan. Of course I'm sorry for him. And I'm sorry for myself, and I don't want this to be some– some grief competition!' She pauses, a little breathless. She lowers her voice and shifts her gaze to the floor. 'I don't know. I just– I don't want to see him hanging in his own cage.'

On these words she turns around and leaves Anakin to hang, too stunned to call her back, to act the master and reprimand her outburst.

'It looks like you will have to address that in your meditation exercises with your padawan,' Mace says as he watches Ahsoka join Rex at the lift.

Any other day, Anakin might bristle at the comment. Today, he lacks the energy. He still has the persistent sensation that his brain is leaking out of his ear, and anyway, the master is _right_.

'Shall we go?' Windu asks.

His hand alights on Anakin's shoulder, a fleeting touch, anchoring him.

'Please.'

* * *

They are alone in the lift, so Ahsoka can let her breath rattle out.

'I should have gone with him... I know I should have, but I can't.'

It's not that Rex doesn't know what to say, it's that he knows there is nothing that needs to be said. So he envelopes her into a quiet embrace, a safe world of fresh pressed blacks for her to sob against.

* * *

A young Nautolan healer welcomes Anakin and Windu at the Halls' entrance and guides them to a room full of weeping crechelings and four healers doing their best to calm the storm of tears. One of them, a blue Twi'lek Anakin immediately recognises as the formidable Vokara Che, turns around as she senses their approach and bears down on them, a storm of her own brewing on her face.  
She stops in front of Anakin, scans him silently from head to toe, and seizes his bicep in a pinching grip. His mechanical hand jerks in reaction, fingers curling. Vokara Che nods to herself, obviously satisfied with this spot check of her old handiwork.

'I imagine you're here to torment my patient?' She asks, turning her attention to Windu.

'His former padawan has expressed the desire to meet him, and the Council agreed.'

'That's a "yes" then. No need to use official lingo on me Mace.’

Anakin has to hand it to him, Windu can keep a straight sabacc face. Master Che huffs when he doesn't relent. She steps with them in the corridor and shuts the door behind her, bringing the noise back to tolerable levels.

'Fine,' she says, sounding like she's being forced into a stupid plan at blaster point. 'Go and see him. I'll be with you shortly, I need to finish here.'

She catches Anakin's sleeve, tugging him to a stop. 'Hold on!'

'Sorry I-'

'Yes, you're impatient to see him, I can sense it.'

Anakin smiles, making a mental tour of his shields just in case... But his week in Che's care after Geonosis had been uncanny enough that he suspects she's perfectly capable of reading him right through them. Or maybe he’s just that obvious.

'I need you to manage your expectations,' she says, serious. 'Obi-Wan has had a really bad night. So have I, for that matter. I'll be surprised if he wants to speak with you. Try not to upset him.'

She gives a pointed look at Windu, who still does his best imitation of a duracrete wall, and finally nods to her padawan before returning to the crechelings.

The young Nautolan guides them further into the Halls and past a security door that makes Anakin shiver. The corridor beyond it is darker and seems much older. There are no more windows on the right side, just a thick white wall, probably as reinforced as the door to the wing itself.

'We haven't housed anyone here since the last great Bantha Flu epidemic,' padawan Kasaemasin says in response to Anakin's concerned looks. 'And then we didn't keep the door shut.'

'It's a containment area, isn't it?'

She nods but gracefully doesn't mention what it is meant to contain. 

'He's in the fifth room,' she says, and with a small bow to the Master of the Order, 'I'll wait out here.'

The two men walk on, and Anakin can't help but wonder why the fifth room. He looks into the first four through their reinforced transparisteel windows and sees much of the same. Dark medical equipment, empty beds. There is nothing unique about the fifth room, except for the patient occupying it.

Anakin can feel his own sickly-sweet misery billowing out through the force around him, can hear his conscience chiding him in Obi-Wan's voice still, lecturing him on attachment and strong emotions.

But from the man himself, nothing.

Obi-Wan sits in a loose lotus position on his sick bed, hooded eyes fixed on a teacup cradled in his hands over his lap, his presence in the force incredibly muted. He does not look up at his visitors, does not react to their approach in any way.

He is gaunt. His cheeks are hollow, the flesh under his eyes is dark and puffy. His hair is not only longer and lank, but several strands of white stand stark against the coppery brown. Gauze bandages peak out of his loose gown, wrapping around his neck and down his wrists. An IV drip is hooked to his left hand.

Anakin is silent for an indefinite amount of time. Just... staring, processing the sight in front of him, Ahsoka's words ringing in his mind.  
_I don't want to see him hanging in his own cage._ _  
_ That's what he looks like, behind the thick pane of transparisteel. A sickly, exotic exhibit in an aseptic white cage.

It's made worse by that sullen, downward gaze, not acknowledging them, not even as Anakin prods at their old bond.

Won't he give him a chance? Won't he acknowledge him, even in anger, so Anakin can apologise? Or at least... try.

Again Windu's hand settles on his shoulder, firmer this time. Anakin turns to him and it's not the Master of the Order looking back, but a man with understanding plain on his face, his mouth twisted by his own unspoken emotions.

'Can I talk to him?' Anakin hazards, uncertain now.

'You can, by pressing the intercomm there, but like master Che said, it's best you don't get your hopes up too much. He hasn't spoken to anyone since he's arrived here. At least beyond Rex, and some of the healers, as I understand it. He's ignored all the masters who've come to visit him so far.'

'Who is that?'

'Master Yoda, master Plo Koon and myself.'

'Is it due to trauma, some kind of mutism or...?'

'Or wilfulness? Because Rex was there with him and we're the ones who left him there? We don't know, he won't tell us. Maybe it is just resen-'

A loud crash makes Anakin almost jump out of his skin, and Windu flinches, taking an automatic step back.

'What the-'

There are cracks radiating through the transparisteel window, and tea dripping down it. Obi-Wan, still in his meditative pose, is now empty handed.

'Did he just throw his teacup at us?' Anakin asks, incredulous.

'What's going on now,' comes master Che's booming voice. The healer approaches them in long strides, a datapad in hand.

'Not sure...' Anakin mumbles, speaking the truth.

'More teacup throwing,' Windu says.

'More?'

'Yes. Master Yoda and I were treated to much of the same the last time we came to see him,' Windu explains, before turning to master Che, his frown deepening. 'Except last time he didn't go and crack the window. This is reinforced transparisteel Vokara, what is going on?'

'Well, did you say something to upset him?' The healer asks, sounding very matter of fact.

'Not to him, we-'

'Between yourselves.'

The two men exchange a confused look.

'What if we were?' Windu asks. 'He can't hear us.'

Vokara Che's exasperation burns so bright, Anakin can feel it like sunlight on his skin.

'What do I write reports for, if you won't read them?' And then, in the same conversational tone, her eyes never leaving them, 'Obi wan, do you care for another cup?'

'If you please,' comes Obi-Wan's voice, crackling over the one-way sound system of the intercomm.

'How-'

'Let's go.'

'I haven't spoken to-'

Anakin interrupts himself as Vokara Che grimaces. It isn't directed at him, though she's looking him in the eyes. It's the scowl of someone in pain. 'We're going now, so stop.'

She turns around and stalks off.

'Stop? I'm not doing anything!'

Mace Windu is behind him, pushing him forward to follow in Che's footsteps with a strong hand pressed against his back. 'I don't think she was speaking to you,' he murmurs to him.

Anakin twists around to catch a last glimpse of Obi-Wan, still in a peaceful lotus, hands empty now, and eyes firmly closed.


	7. Confusion of Feelings

Anakin sits in Vokara Che's surprisingly comfortable office, blows on the tea he’d been handed, rich green liquid swirling in a teacup similar to the one that had just come hurtling at him.

Che speaks, Mace Windu replies, and Anakin tries to keep up with their back and forth, full of information that sometimes skims over his overloaded brain.

'So you're saying he's using a healer's technique to get into people's heads?' He asks, trying to sound like he understood everything.

'This is not quite what the Seam is, nor how he uses it,' master Che says. 'This was in my morning report to the Council, did you not–'

'It was a long and intense session, and we clearly weren't looking at your most recent update,' master Windu cuts in. 'You have my apologies, master Che, but please, it bears repeating.'

The healer sips on her tea, collects herself for a moment.

‘Most of the speaking Obi-Wan does is through the Seam. He can be quite persistent with it, as earlier, to the point of it being painful. He has not mastered its subtleties yet.'

'So he talks to you?'

'A little. He'll answer questions from Bedara or Se'bi vocally, but he tends to answer my apprentice through the Seam because he knows she can hear him there. He's very polite to all of them. However the only person he speaks with in whole, meaningful sentences, so far, is me.'

Anakin blinks, surprised; Windu frowns, and Che looks back at them knowingly. Obi-Wan's reputation for hating the Halls, medbays and healers at large, despite having quite the collection of wounds and injuries to his name, is unrivalled.

Anakin’s confusion boils into something else, some acid reflux closer to indignation or jealousy, he isn’t sure, he doesn’t care, he just recognises the hurt: his master is speaking after all, but not to _him_. 

'I know exactly how you feel,' Vokara Che goes on, shaking her head at the mystery of such a docile and compliant Obi-Wan, 'I was expecting him to try and squirm his way out of my care as soon as he could wobble back on his feet, but he's been reluctant to even leave his room for his physicals. He's like a wounded lothcat, trying to sleep his hurt away. But I'm getting sidetracked. The Seam. I will demonstrate.’ 

She puts her teacup down and stretches out her arms along the armrests of her seat, palms up. 

‘You're both great swordsmen—it's not a question, no need to give me coy shrugs—I'm sure you've experienced that sensation, in the middle of a duel, when everything flows, and you feel like you've become your own lightsaber, or your saber has become an extension of your self? A form of meditative combat? Well, healers lean into the Living Force, and we can enter a meditative state as we heal. Those trained to truly let go, who are capable of erasing their ego and enter a perfect state of flow, can step into the Seam. And there—'

Che flicks a finger, the smallest of gestures, and Anakin's breath freezes like the air has solidified in his nose. There is no pain, like with a force choke, no pressure on his throat, yet his diaphragm lays limp and unresponsive in his chest, and no mental effort of his manages to make it pull any air in.

Mace Windu jerks in his seat, tea sloshing out of his cup.

'—we have a much stronger and more precise control of the bodies—and minds—around us.'

'Right–' Windu says with a slight hitch in his voice as Che releases them. 'That was a convincing demonstration. So you're telling us Kenobi can enter the Seam at will.'

'Now yes. Sleep deprivation isn't how we train healers to access it, but it seems to have done the trick for him. Through it he has a heightened sense of everyone around him, and can connect to people in a different way. I didn't put Obi-Wan where he is because of security concerns. I put him out there so he could have some quiet.'

Anakin perks up. 'Why the fifth room?'

'Because it's far enough that he can't hear the door noises in the middle of the night, and we don't have to trek half a klik to get to him.'

'So you keep him isolated so no noise will irritate him?'

'Wake him, Mace. So we don't wake him. But yes. We haven't had any accidents since he's been able to manage his own sleeping schedule without interruption.'

'You did mention he's had a bad night, anything special about this one?'

Vokara Che's lekku curl. Anakin's first reading is that she's annoyed, but that comes from his experience with Ahsoka. Twi'leks are different however. The healer is _hesitating._

'I suggested we try a trance dream. He accepted. He claims something is wrong with his dreams, so I went in with him.'

Windu exchanges a look with Anakin. Clearly they shouldn't have missed Che's morning report.

'What did you see?' Windu asks.

Anakin's mind is somewhere else. 'Was something actually wrong?'

Master Che leans back into her seat, hands neatly folded over her crossed legs. She looks at them both, inscrutable but for her pursed lips, parsing what to share.

'There was something wrong, yes. They were dark, not just in theme, there was actual darkness there. I don't know what causes it either but in the depth of his nightmare he couldn't wake himself up, the way we would. He says that's what has been tormenting him for several days now.'

'But you isolate him from noise to protect his sleep? Isn’t that worse then?' Anakin asks.

'You don't spend all of your sleeping time dreaming. And when he isn't dreaming, the smallest noises can startle him awake.' Master Che sighs. 'He's having a hard time with it either way, and while I expect the noise sensitivity to get better, I don't know what's happening with the dreams. I've started some research, but we know precious little on the topic.'

'What topic,' Anakin asks, frowning, 'dreams?'

His own have a tendency to make him anxious, particularly when on Coruscant, for some reason. He's curious for a healer’s perspective.

'Dreams and nightmares in darksiders. It's not like our fallen members often return and let themselves be–'

'What are you saying?' Anakin exclaims, lurching forward in his seat.

'Skywalker!' Windu snaps. 'Control yourself.'

'Obi-Wan, a darksider?! No way! He’d never abandon the Code.'

'Anakin,' Che says, her voice heavy with soothing force influence, 'I saw him use it. The _dark side._ That first day after he came in? We woke him up and he... I'm sure you've seen _that report.'_

'Yes, we have,' Windu says, eyes throwing daggers at Anakin. 'How is padawan Chikssee doing?'

'She'll leave her tank tomorrow. Her vitals are all fine, we're just not sure yet about her throat but well... We have the cybernetics for that sort of fix if need be.'

Anakin scoffs. 'But that was an accident!'

'Well–'

'What are you trying to say?' Windu asks.

Anakin can feel he's being baited, but he doesn't care.

'All I'm hearing is how Obi-Wan snapped at someone and–'

'If by snapped you mean blindly grabbed a fourteen years old padawan through the force by her throat and threw her out of the room through a window, then yes, he did _snap._ Go on.'

Anakin grits his teeth, frustrated. Why is talking with Windu always like this?

'Obi-Wan _hurt_ someone in his confusion, but master Che says he's using a healer's power, so how can he be a darksider? How can he be one if he did not intend to break the Code? This was _done to him!_ He freed Rex and himself using all he had at his disposal in a time of great distress, and now you're saying something is playing with his mind? Labelling him like that is unfair!'

Vokara Che goes to speak but Windu cuts her off with a gesture and brings all the intensity of his Councillor persona to bear on Anakin.

'Using a healer's _state of flow_ or ataru or one's bare fists has nothing to do with falling to the dark side. It’s all about how and why you use it, and you know this!'

'And as far as we know Obi-Wan's intent was good! He won't speak to the Council, but Rex swears he only killed slavers!'

'Including unarmed ones, asleep in their bed!'

'Who would have gotten up the next day to beat him up! Had tortured him for weeks!'

'Are you suggesting the Jedi order should adjust its Code to make the slaying of unarmed sentients a legitimate action, so long as we disagree with the morality of their trade? Where would we draw the line? Would you see us become executioners?'

'I–'

He what?

Wants to clear his master's name, wants him back in his quarters so Anakin can care for him, wants to talk to him, wants to hear him say it's fine, all's fine, and he's forgiven.

Anakin looks down at his cup, already empty, though he doesn't remember taking a sip from it and his mouth is dry.

He wants his master back, to reassure him and nag him into being a good knight.

His anger deflates as the sense in Windu's words finally hits home. There's been a lot of that today, and it's not an enjoyable experience. 

'No. Of course not. I'm sorry,' he says, biting down on all these wants. 'You're right, master. The order can’t change for one member. But I wish Obi-Wan would not be judged so quickly. He needs time to heal and speak for himself. He needs a fair hearing.'

Windu sighs. Che pushes her lekku behind her shoulders, maybe to keep their twitching private. The two masters appear older in that moment, almost as old as Anakin himself feels. There appears to be no winners in this argument.

'I understand your concerns, Skywalker. If there is one thing I can promise you, it's that the Council will take its time in handling this situation. We're all waiting on master Che's permission first anyway.'

Che nods. 'And you won't receive it anytime soon, the pace things are going. I want to return him to a normal sleep pattern and a clean bill of health.’

Anakin nods absently. He sits in silence, busy trying to manage his thoughts while the two masters resume the conversation, covering Obi-Wan's health, poor as it is. It isn’t long before the Master of the Order calls the meeting over by standing up.  
He thanks master Che for the tea, congratulates her on her good work, and makes his way to the door. Anakin goes to follow him, bowing to the healer, but she stops him. 

'Skywalker, a word if you please.'

'Yes, master Che?' He says, watching Windu leave the office without a backward glance.

'What I said about the dream...'

'The one you witnessed last night.'

'Right.' She is silent for a spell, her eyes distant, lost in her memories.

Anakin doesn't interrupt her. He's too tired to worry or even dread. This cannot be good. Nothing Obi-Wan dreams up right now can be any good.

'A lot of what I saw was personal in nature, and I'm not obligated to discuss it, not even with the Council,' she says, refocusing on Anakin. 'I intervened in his dream when things got too... Too harrowing for him. He was dying. Something was eating him alive, tearing him apart. He was in actual pain, I was feeling it too, it was ludicrous, honestly. I’ve never experienced anything like it. I was about to wake him, but then _you_ appeared. You grabbed his hand and helped him up.'

Anakin nods, the hefty weight of defeat draping itself on his shoulders. 'I hurt him, didn't I?'

Vokara Che gives him a sad smile. 'No. You truly helped. You refused not to help actually, even as he saw that his touch was contaminating you. That you were being eaten alive in front of him.'

'So I died?'

'No. You turned into a Sith. You looked at him with yellow Sith eyes and told him to join him, or something to that effect—oh, come now, breathe. You're alright. Here, sit down.'

'I– I’m fine,’ Anakin mumbles even as Che grabs a hold of his arm to stabilise him. Maybe he understands Obi-Wan a little better, he thinks. The healer is such a grounding presence, and right now he feels like he has no choice but to lean into her. ‘You said he couldn't wake up on his own.'

'That's right. Not during the nightmares at least.'

'But you woke him then, right? After that?'

'Yes. You know why I'm telling you this, don’t you?'

Of course, Anakin knows. People often assume his hot-headed tendencies mean he's got brains for little more than off the cuff battle tactics and droid mechanics. Anakin is used to being misjudged, and he appreciates Vokara Che's bluntness for its implied trust.

'Good. Now go, and don't come back until you've adjusted your emotions accordingly. Obi-Wan can sense you across half the Temple I'm sure.'

'I understand.' 

Anakin steps out of Vokara Che’s office with his feelings in such a mess, he’s actually looking forward to settling down on his meditation cushion for once, but the day still has another surprise in store for him, in the shape of Mace Windu, arms crossed, looking unusually broody and clearly waiting for him. 

‘Skywalker. A word from me too.'

'Master?'

‘Let’s walk.’ Windu says, jerking his head in the direction of the lifts.

Anakin follows the Korun master, half a step behind to give him the thinking room he seems to need, but Windu slows to match his pace.

'Look. I know you've been hearing a lot of this but…’ Windu waves the sentence away, starting over. ‘After Qui-Gon Jinn's death, I spent quite some time with Obi-Wan. He felt like he needed to do a lot of field work to be ready to begin your apprenticeship, and I took him under my wing, so to speak. We became good friends. What I mean is that you're not the only one getting frustrated and upset over tossed teacups and cold silences. I might be better than you at managing my feelings, but it does not mean I do not feel.'

'Master, I would not presume...'

'I'm telling you, so you don't have to presume anything. Just know this, you're not alone. And whatever the Council ends up deciding regarding Obi-Wan's future in the order, never doubt that he trained you to the best of his _excellent_ abilities. He had faith in you, so should you.'

'Have faith in him?'

'No, Anakin. Have faith in yourself.'


	8. Strength of Ties

Anakin sits in the same lotus pose as Obi-Wan's.

He has not tried to reach Padmé and the comforts she might offer, nor has he tried to contact Ahsoka when he did not find her in their shared quarters. Instead he went straight to his meditation cushion and set himself to work.  
He won't abandon his master again, so he isn't going anywhere.

The light falls slanted over him, pink and golden as the sun sets. Twilight flits by, quickly chased away by the electric brilliance of the Coruscanti night coming to life.  
Anakin is too preoccupied to notice any of it. His mind rings with Vokara Che's words. It is as if the healer had offered him a mirror. A remote perspective from which to look down on himself, the man who Obi-Wan dreams with Sith eyes.

It's not a pretty sight.

Anakin sees himself as a bundle of raw emotions, the _luminous being_ he is supposed to be almost invisible within the gnarly tangle of anger, fright, confusion, denial and jealousy. There's also love in there, more than the order would like there to be, and doubt. More than any knight ought to have.  
If Obi-Wan could sense that whole mess while in his darkest place, well... No wonder Anakin had gotten a teacup tossed his way.

The change of perspective is like whiplash, but Vokara Che's trust is a steadying comfort. A new emotion comes washing over him, clean and simple: gratitude.

He wonders if meeting Che sooner might have helped. Would he have listened to her, if he weren't trawling the bottom, desperate for a hand out of his own unshakable nightmare?

Anakin works to steady his breath. He has time, but he has a lot of work to do. He picks a dark thread in the knot in front of him and pulls on it.

 _Guilt_ should go first.

He won't run now. He will face himself, and the consequences of his actions. He won't let guilt get in the way of becoming better.

Of course it snags on memories, catches on anger, coils itself around shame. It resists. It's a pervasive emotion, at home in many of his mind's darker corners.

But Anakin _has time,_ and he's nothing if not obstinate. He'll disentangle himself if it's the last thing he accomplishes.

* * *

When Ahsoka comes home, she flips on the lights and gasps, startled. Anakin has withdrawn far into himself and away from their bond, she probably didn't sense him, and it's not like sitting alone in the dark is his usual go-to for late evening activities.

'Master I–' she interrupts herself, shuffles, awkwardness radiating through the force. 'Are you alright?'

'I am. Are you?' Anakin asks, looking at her.

Ahsoka's shoulders droop, resigning herself that they are going to have this conversation now. 'Yes, I'm fine. Should I make some tea?'

'Not for me, thanks. I've had my fill for today, even though I don't really remember drinking it.'

Ahsoka walks up to him, curious. 'How was master Obi-Wan?'

Anakin isn't sure how to answer that, but resigns himself to the truth. 'Hanging in his cage, as you suspected. Though as I understand it, he sees it more as a mudhorn's brooding den.'

'Did he say anything? Did you talk?'

'Come Snips, sit down with me.'

Ahsoka gives him a surprised look, her left lekku jumping in a more insolent _"really?"_ but she settles herself down on her cushion all the same.

Anakin sighs. He's so not ready for this. But it's another step he's resolved on. Ahsoka, apparently misinterpreting his reaction, launches herself in a flurry of excuses.

'I'm sorry for my outburst earlier master, I shouldn't have spoken to you like this, and I realise I should have come with you even if–'

Anakin channels some of master Windu's authority and interrupts her with the same gesture he used on master Che earlier. It works like a charm, and Anakin takes notes.

'It's fine. I'm not telling you off. I wasn't really in a better place than you were. But we need to talk.'

'About Obi-Wan?'

'No. About us.'

She frowns but says nothing and waits for him to go on.

Yes, it's the master's role to lead, and too often that dynamic is unclear between them.

'I've been meditating,' Anakin starts, 'and I've come to some conclusions.'

Ahsoka's frown deepens, her white markings twisting and bunching. Anakin deserves it. When was the last time she'd seen him meditate? A year ago? When was the last time they meditated together? It's easy to blame the war, but Anakin feels like he has neglected his duties as a master all the same.

'We're going to meditate together, then we're going to sleep. In the morning I'll go talk to the Council, and your first task will be to find Vokara Che in the Halls and ask for a mindhealer to talk to.'

Ahsoka's reaction is just as fiery as expected, her outrage and disbelief as vibrant as Anakin's would have been if he'd received such an order from Obi-Wan.

'What? Master, why? It's not necessary I'm fine! I–'

'Ahsoka!' Anakin snaps, raising his voice. 'Was what you said to me outside the Council Chamber, in front of Mace Windu, the words and actions of a padawan who is fine? Can't you feel the emotions you're letting out? How is this fine?'

She rocks back, almost falling from her cushion. 'But, like I said–'

'Are you really alright? After Zygerria? Does that not bother you any more? And what's happened to Obi-Wan? Nothing about the war has been on your mind?'

He watches her sway, watches her wring her hands, and it hurts him to see her that upset. Anakin doesn't need to pull any thread to know how deeply enmeshed Ahsoka is in his heart and its fierce attachments, how far he'd be willing to go for her sake.

'Still master, I don't see how–'

'Snips, look... It's going to sound terrible coming from me, but you need to stop and listen to yourself. What do you really feel? You don't need to rush forward and make excuses. This... This pushing it all down and moving on without thinking... It's my worst trait, Ahsoka. Seeing it magnified in you isn't a good thing.'

She sighs and settles herself back in a lotus matching his. She's clearly thinking his words through, which is a quality all her own. Anakin is sure Obi-Wan would have paid dearly to see him be this mindful.  
Well, maybe it's not too late.

'Your apprenticeship isn't normal. Padawans aren't usually leading armies on their own. And then there's the fact I didn't choose you, that you were assigned to me... It can't have been easy for you. We should have spent more time talking about it, earlier on.'

Ahsoka's hand catches his, squeezing his flesh and blood fingers. 'You're a great master. It wasn't easy at the start but I wouldn't change anything.'

Anakin squeezes back. 'But I'm not always a great example or a reliable master. Honestly? Sometimes it feels like we're both Obi-Wan's kids.'

They chuckle at that, knowing how painfully accurate the image is.

'I want us to help him,' Anakin goes on, 'I want us to be anchors in the light for him. We can’t abandon him again. I mean, we owe him that much, don't you think?'

'Of course master... I just... I guess I didn't think a mindhealer would help? So, what you’re saying is that we can’t really help him if we're all confused and unhappy ourselves?'

Anakin smiles. Trust Ahsoka to get there ten times faster than him. 

'That's right. It won’t be easy, but we’ve pulled crazier missions, haven't we?'

He looks into her eyes and slowly lowers his shields, letting his anxieties slip out through their bond, to show her she's not alone, an unspoken invitation to rely on him. Ahsoka smiles back at him and mirrors his emotions, their bond singing with the symmetry of their pain. For a long time their stay like this, hands locked, staring at each other, a silent conversation flowing between them, binding them closer.

'Let's meditate,' Anakin whispers. 

'Yes,' his padawan agrees. 

And together they dive into the force.


	9. Relief of Certainty

When Vokara confirmed his suspicions in the morning after the trance, relief washed over Obi-Wan like a spring rain over parched ground.

Of course she hasn't come to the conclusion that someone is interfering with him, only that something is keeping his head down under dark waters. But Obi-Wan feels it again the following night, the subtle pressure of an unwanted guest, chasing him this way and that down the endless warrens of his nightmares. Now that he knows what to look for, he can sense the fading tracks, ephemeral footprints of a ghost come to haunt him in the night and gone by morning's artificial light.

He frets for a while, which is unlike him. He does not like the explanations he comes up with on his own.

It would be easiest to ask master Yoda. The old troll has such profound knowledge of the force, he might have answers and fitting solutions, some old practices long forgotten, to strengthen the shields of a dreamer. But Obi-Wan is wary of the old master's antics. Such knowledge would end up used in a tug-of-war with him, some ploy to make him talk. Make him _reasonable._ _  
_ Life is challenging enough at the moment, he simply does not need an ideological debate with the Council on top of it.

Instead he minds Vokara's advice and focuses on the meditative exercises she has asked him to perform.

 _To find your balance within the force,_ she'd said. _A solid ground to stand on, no matter which side of the force that ends up being._

But as Obi-Wan stands in the Seam and looks down on himself, all he sees is the glow of his own shape. There is no Light, and no Dark.  
He's a _luminous being_ still, as if the force cares little for his actions. As if it acknowledges nothing but power. The implications leave Obi-Wan uneasy. Life was simpler when he had no reason to question his understanding of the force.

_To find your own peace. Do an inventory of your soul._

His soul, regrown from its tatters, scarred and patchworked as it might be, is still made of the same stuff. There is no discontinuity in his personhood. He carries the same memories, albeit buried and muted, as the old Obi-Wan.  
It's his point of view that has shifted.

In his despair he tried forbidden ways, and found they served him well. They gave him relief, saved him, when nothing else would.

 _Easy solutions are a shortcut to the darkside,_ Qui-Gon used to tell him. And he was right, of course.

But if Qui-Gon had been there, watching over him on Kadavo as he was being ground into the charcoal dirt, what would he have said? Would he have understood, or wished for him to endure, no matter the cost?  
If he'd witnessed Obi-Wan in the Seam, blinding in his presence even as he wielded the force against the Code, what conclusions might his old master have drawn?

 _How much of a change of perspective does it take,_ Obi-Wan wonders, _to change who you are?_

And at his darkest time, at his lowest, when he watched himself shake a woman as if it would make her shut up, punch a man for daring to touch him and raising his voice, had he not been himself?

When he decided to kill, when he reached out through the force to snuff out lives, had it not been his own choice? Some raw version of himself, lurking under the polish of civility, eager to strike back?

Would that same beast have reared its snarling head, if he had been raised as a Stewjoni farmer and put through a similar ordeal?

Surely, he has to believe so to accept himself, to _make peace._ _  
_ Has to believe that he's a person in his own right first, and not a set of values. That his oath, his adherence to the Code, can be the thing that shattered, and not _Obi-Wan Kenobi_ himself. That one does not equate the other. That his duties shouldn't define him.

The idea is as tantalizing as it is frightening. Breaking his vows in the depth of sleep-deprived despair is one thing. Maybe the Council would even accept that "he was not himself" at the time. Beyond reason.  
But accepting such concepts as personal truths would be tantamount to rejecting the Order and its Code entirely.

He'd be Jedi no more.

Obi-wan stops himself in the middle of chewing on a hot rii cake, head cocked to the side as the pernicious question asks itself: is he even a Jedi now?

'Everything alright master Kenobi?'

He smiles at Kasaemasin, who for one has not written him off yet, despite everything she's witnessed.

'I'm fine. Sorry, a thought just struck me a little late.'

'Oh? I'll trade you another rii cake for that thought.'

Obi-Wan chuckles. He doesn't mind being treated like a crecheling, not by this gentle padawan. The Council would love to know his thoughts, but he suspects Kasaemasin only wants him to eat more.

Before he can make up his mind on what to answer, the force ripples, a faint but tumultuous stir that comes from up top.

'What has the Council this rattled?' He asks.

'Mmh?' Kasaemasin looks up, squinting her eyes as if she could see through the hundred odd levels separating them from the Council Chamber. 'What time is it? Ah, it must be your old padawan.'

Obi-Wan blinks at her dumbly. 'Anakin?'

She grins, more mischievous than he's ever seen her before. 'My master told me a meeting was scheduled at his request, and she was asked to attend. It must be an interesting one.'

Obi-Wan huffs, surprised, and a little... Pleased? Worried? Definitely curious.

He has avoided thinking much about Anakin, among others, to focus on his brittle self. He had not wanted to taint his relationships by dwelling on them while he was—

Obi-Wan sighs. Above them the swell in the force slowly dissipates. Calm returns to the temple, as much as it ever does in these dark times.

'Will you tell me what it was all about?'

'Of course!' Kasaemasin agrees, pleased he asked, 'as much as I'm told, and allowed to pass on. But you know, I'm sure master Che will share the news with you if you'll ask her!'

But Vokara does not visit him that afternoon, and in the evening it is Se'bi who comes with medication and questions and a droid for another round of tests. Obi-Wan lets himself be prodded. He falls back into the shades of in-between, where all his meditation takes place these days. He thinks of the people he's kept hidden away, resigned now that the filth won't go, that it is just a part of him he has to come to terms with.  
He remembers Siri, Garen and Bant, his youth in the temple, thinks of Qui-Gon and their early missions, of Satine. _Ah._ He wonders if anyone told Satine about him.

Probably not.

The duchess of an independent world has no business being kept apprised of the goings-on of Jedi. Then he wonders how many in the senate know, and by extension, how much of the galaxy.

 _Someone, somewhere_ certainly noticed.

That someone plunges after him into the night, holding on to his mind with greasy hands, clawing through his shields, pawing at his psyche.

He should have left Satine sealed away... Maybe then he wouldn't be made to dream of her being beaten and shocked until her nose and eyes bleed into the ground, until her gaze falls away from him in death.

Obi-Wan wakes up shaking, laughing, hearing the manic rage bubbling in the sound and unable to do anything about it. The alternative to laughter would be costly, and not just mentally.

So. He has attracted the attention of a powerful Sith.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, fallen Jedi, Sith honeypot. _Lovely._

He rises, trembling hands reaching in the dark for the warm outer robe Vokara gave him to wear outside the room he never leaves. He struggles to calm his breathing, to push back against the echoes of Satine's screams, the accusing words, the smell of charred flesh.

His hands settle first, so Obi-Wan fastens the robe and pads across the room to the corridor outside, bare feet silent on the cold floor, nothing to be heard in the deserted wing but his own laboured breath.  
He makes his way to the small garden at the far end of the wing. It is a little room jutting out of the temple's bulk, its ceiling perforated in a geometrical pattern that lets in some of the moonlight. Or what passes for it on Coruscant.  
Obi-Wan sits down on a patch of moss and gazes up, to the twinkling of the stars, marred by busy orbital traffic, and the galaxy beyond.

But the object of his thoughts isn't out there. No, he's much closer.

Obi-Wan can tell it isn't Maul or Dooku. He knows their _signature_ as it were, and besides, he doubts they would be strong enough for this.  
Obi-Wan's status in the Order is irrelevant. They could repudiate him and toss him out tomorrow and it wouldn't erase his skill, a lifetime of hardships and experiences that earned him the title of Jedi Master.

Yet there is a Sith on Coruscant who can slide into his mind against his will, corrupt his dreams and keep him from waking. This would be no student, no betrayed reject like Ventress. No. No... 

This could be the Master.

A small voice screams at him from the far reaches of his mind. _We should tell the Council,_ it begs, _they must know!_ Obi-Wan ignores it. _It's our duty,_ it whispers still, but it's the voice of a foolish man, who accepted slavery and its horrors as part of his _duties._ One who sacrificed everything for nothing at all, who placed his trust in undeserving hands.

Obi-Wan Kenobi watches the sky pale and the sun rise, and in the end, keeps his own counsel.


	10. Points of View

'Master, I don't think we can do that.'

'Are you getting cold feet now Snips? Of course we can.'

Ahsoka shuffles. They are alone in the lift, so she doesn't have to hide her concerns or be quiet, but she still lowers her voice. 'No, I mean, we probably shouldn't.'

Anakin smiles his confidence down on his padawan. 'Says who? Just stick to your lines and it'll be fine.'

'Surely lying to the Council goes against the Code?'

Anakin shrugs. 'I feel like we took quite a lot of steps to make sure we're not technically lying though...'

'Wow, _technicalities_ master? Really?'

'Since when have you stopped trusting me?'

'I don't know? When did this conversation start?'

'Four days ago. You've had the time to voice your complaints, it's too late now.'

She sighs and looks like she might keep arguing, but the doors whoosh open and they walk to the Council Chamber in silence.  
Anakin can sympathise with her. They aren't _supposed_ to lie to the Council, but then again they aren't supposed to disobey its orders either and that's something both of them have polished to an art.

Why stop now?

Only Windu, Yoda, Plo Koon and Kit Fisto are present in the flesh, but all the other seats are filled by holograms.

All but Obi-Wan's.

Curious eyes turn to them, scanning Anakin and his antsy padawan. He hasn't stated his reasons for requesting this meeting, though they probably all think it has to do with his master, and would be right, in a way.

'Everyone is present,' Mace Windu declares. He reclines into his seat and waves a hand at Anakin. 'Skywalker, if you please, we'd like to hear what you have to say to the Council.'

'Thank you master _—masters—_ for giving me this opportunity.'

Yoda harrumphs, Ki-Adi-Mundi waves the politeness away, Shaak Ti smiles. They all await in expectant silence. Ahsoka's nervousness seeps through their bond.

Anakin squares his shoulders. He has made up his mind, and he knows he's right. More, he knows he's in the Light. This choice sings to him, vibrant and clear.

'I'd like to request a formal leave of absence of undetermined length,' he says, 'and be relieved of all my duties, both in the GAR and the Order, until I'm fit to return.'

Anakin expected a reaction, but nothing on the scale of what he gets.

He looks on, stumped by the onslaught of arguments, questions and backhanded compliments. It turns out he is valued. One of the best generals in the GAR, an invaluable asset! He can't be spared at such a crucial time, and won't he reconsider?

Windu massages his brow in silence, leaving Yoda to strike his cane against the ground, mustering order back to the room.

Baffled, Anakin presses his point, reminds them—not hiding his shock that he has to—that his master has _fallen._

'I'm not exactly taking it in stride,' he says.

And still, they push back. 'No one is better qualified to replace you in this post,' Agen Kolar insists.

Anakin bites down on his feelings before they can get a hold on him, and spew them back in a fervent diatribe.

'Rex could! He's an exceedingly talented clone captain, and I believe him to be perfectly capable of leading the 501st on his own for some weeks. Rex has more military victories to his name than many officers three times his age. He's already back on duty after his ordeal on Kadavo, he's just that strong and devoted to the cause! You could not find a better stand-in. He's loyal. Loyal, even by clone standards.'

Councillors bicker, argue. 'A clone couldn't be promoted to General, not even an acting General.'

'Then make him a commander!'

Voices rise. Tones grow clipped. 'We need a Jedi leading the 501st.'

Ahsoka is struggling to hide her own mounting fury, her lekku twitching with emotions. But she stays put, biding her time. Not that she has to wait long before Ki-Asdi-Mundi suggests that she should replace Anakin at the head of the 501st.

He expected it, but his indignation is still real when he confronts the Cerean master. 'A padawan's place is at their master's side.' He counters sternly.

This gives them pause. Anakin Skywalker is not known in the Order for his orthodoxy.

'Don't you feel that your padawan is ready for this assignment?' Kit Fisto asks, leaning forward, smiling kindly. 'Wouldn't she be a good fit? She has experience leading men.'

'Master, are you suggesting that one teenager who was raised to be a diplomatic peacekeeper is better than another teenager who was born and bred for war?' Anakin asks the Nautolan master, working hard to keep his face neutral. He wants to snarl at him, at all of them. 'I think Ahsoka could do it, absolutely. I also think Rex is just as qualified, and that neither of them should really be running a war. But at least Rex doesn't need to sort through his lineage falling to the dark side for the _second time.'_

'Peace, Skywalker. It is not for us to decide on Clone promotions.'

'Councillors, I thought that breaking the Code was frowned upon? Is sending a padawan to war instead of their master, and despite their master's will, really a precedent you want to set?'

Ki-Adi-Mundi scoffs, but Yoda speaks up. 'A good point, knight Skywalker has,' he says. 'Requested the presence of a healer, Skywalker has. Maybe time it is to tell us why, mmh?'

'I was the one who requested Vokara Che's presence, master Yoda,' Ahsoka says, stepping forward. 'I have... I have not been well either, since the...' She falters, gives Anakin a sideways glance. He puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder, encouraging her to go on. 'I've been seeing a mindhealer and I believe I would benefit from more sessions. I'd like to stay with my master.'

A heavy silence settles in the Council Chamber. They all turn to Vokara Che, who steps forward and does nothing more than confirm Ahsoka's words.

'Matters discussed during sessions are private, and master Sha-Xan has not seen fit to share the details, but he believes Padawan Tano would do well with a leave and more sessions with him.' She gives Anakin a sideways glance. 'I think knight Skywalker could also use our help, if he's willing to take it.'

 _Huh. She really is amazing,_ Anakin thinks, biting into his cheeks to keep his victorious smile in check.

While the councillors exchange glances and meaningful nods and shakes of their wise heads, Mace Windu catches Anakin's eyes. A cocked eyebrow is all he gives him, but it carries a lot of meaning. Anakin even reads some respect there. _Well played,_ it seems to say. Surprise that he's taken his advice and ran off with it.

Windu looks away to survey the room, and with his usual tone of authority, asks Anakin and Ashoka to leave so the Council can discuss the matter.

'We will get back to you after this meeting is done, but we need to discuss other matters first.'

Anakin and Ahsoka bow and walk out of the Chamber, alone. Ah, so Vokara Che stays, and next on their agenda is a _certain Jedi_ in her care.

'I think we got this, Skyguy,' Ahsoka whispers as they step back into the lift.

'Yeah,' Anakin agrees, shaking the last of the anger still clinging to him and grinning down at her, 'I think we do, Snips. Now to wait and see...'

* * *

Ahsoka watches her master meditate with mixed feelings.

When on Coruscant, Anakin is usually out and about, off to visit Senator Amidala, thinking himself wickedly discreet, and leaving Ahsoka to roam the temple or the city as she pleases, keeping her own hours.

But if he left twice after their return from Zygerria, he hasn't been out of the temple grounds since Obi-Wan's rescue. He only ventures out of their quarters for katas or duels in the dojos, working through the worst of his emotions physically, and walks in the gardens. She caught him napping on the grass once.

It's a serious change of pace for their duo.

Anakin has led her in more meditations in that time than in the past two years, not even counting the ones he does on his own.

Ahsoka grumbled exactly once, their first time, before she sat cross-legged in front of Anakin and joined him in the deep eddies of the force he always takes her to, farther than she can go on her own.

There she met another version of herself—became her, for a moment.

She felt powerless and alone, standing on a slab of stone, a featureless expanse only broken by the silhouette of Anakin, not as he was, but as he could be: hunched over, golden eyes smouldering behind a curtain of drab hair, his face twisted in a scowl dripping hatred.

The air between them was tinted an oppressive red by the lightsaber in his hands.

He didn't move, didn't even look at her, really. He just faded away, leaving Ahsoka to wrangle with the hurt and despair that wasn't truly hers to feel.

 _Perspective,_ that's what the vision gave her.

She has been diligent ever since, joining her master in meditation, visiting a mindhealer as instructed... And now she keeps a journal for said mindhealer, a little flimsi booklet in which she jots down her worries, the questions she struggles to ask, the doubts that always come gnawing back.

She has sketches in there too, the same face drawn from many angles, scars and tattoos distinguishing them. In the margins are all her misgivings, scratched in her messy hand, all the fears she feels at the idea of losing one more clone, one more friend.

_Is it not wrong, to mass produce soldiers? Sentient weapons?_

_Aren't we to blame for every clone death?_

_Why can't we retrieve their bodies and give them proper burial? There's never any time... Why can't we make it? Does the Order not care?_

_I don't even remember the names of all the clones who died under my orders. Why was I given men when I didn't know how to care for them?_

_I feel like the respect they give me was earned with so many of their deaths... How can I deserve it?_

She sketches Rex, looking at her askance. She doesn't have the skill to do him justice, to render the quiet sadness that has flickered in his eyes ever since his rescue from Kadavo. Or was it since Umbara? She isn't sure.

As if picking up on her unease, Anakin sighs from his cushion. But he has his eyes closed, head tipped forward, chin resting on his chest.

Ahsoka reaches out to him, but their bond is fuzzy again. He has gone far, working on himself. _Processing backlog_ was the term he'd used, grinning proudly. Right now though, she suspects he's simply running away from the tedium of their wait, killing time by sorting out his feelings.

Ahsoka slaps her notebook shut, pushes her feet back into her boots, checks her wristcom, and grabs a holopad to leave Anakin a note.

 _I'm off to process some backlog too,_ the hologram spells out, _you can comm me when you know. I'll be with Rex and the gang._

And with that she's off, jogging towards the barracks, to ask her friends some questions she should have asked long ago, to share feelings she shouldn't be releasing in the force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you know how I said I was a pantser and to take my promises with a grain of salt? Well, here we are.  
> I started writing every arc I wanted finished, and new PoVs, and there was just too much. I realised it'd be weird to go from snappy and short chapters to a 6k monster or whatever this would have come out as... So instead I'm saving the final Anakin and Obi-Wan PoVs for the true last chapter (*cackles like this promise is worth anything*)  
> Hopefully Wednesday!! Maybe Thursday. At worst next weekend. It's almost all there, I'm just broody and being a perfectionist because this is the end... (Says I, not on the final chapter).  
> Any impressions and feedback are welcome and appreciated! It's still incredible to me to see this fic keep growing over time. Love y'all.


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